


Mementos

by obi_ki



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-26
Updated: 2011-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-20 17:50:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obi_ki/pseuds/obi_ki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you can only take comfort in what is left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mementos

Character: Obi-Wan  
Rating: G  
Category: POV  


Disclaimers: Everything Star Wars belongs to George Lucas and Lucasfilms. I am just playing in his world, borrowing the boyz and their accomplices and will return them all when I'm through. No money is being made from this, it is all done for entertainment only.

Author's Notes: This was written in response to a prompt in the LJ community swficchallenge Many thanks to Merry Amelie for the thorough beta and helpful suggestions. As always, I couldn't resist making a few final tweaks, so all mistakes are mine. Feedback is always appreciated, onlist or privately at kiowkqgj@yahoo.com.

Summary: Sometimes you can only take comfort in what is left behind.

***********************

Settling down on the grass in a secluded corner of the garden along the banks of the Solleu River, Obi-Wan pulled the lightsaber from his belt and stared at it. The black pommel threaded into the end of the casing, the thirteen rings of black leather nestled into the burnished silver of the carved cylinder that protected the focusing crystal, the heavy rubber sleeve that housed the wires connecting the power source to the emitter array, the belt clip, the power button. If asked, he could have described it in complete detail with his eyes closed, having seen it almost every day for the past twelve years.

But being familiar with something did not denote ownership of it and the sight of his hand wrapped around the familiar hilt sent a wave of strangeness pulsing through Obi-Wan. The hilt belonged in a much larger hand, one with a matching set of calluses and a touch that could be as gentle as it was strong. It belonged in the hand that had trained him, corrected him, comforted him, healed him and, in the last few months, even caressed him, but in a hand whose touch he would never feel again.

And it was in that fact that Obi-Wan's troubles lay. The scent of the burnt-out pyre still filled his nostrils and permeated his clothing. Although he had walked some distance from the Theed Funeral Temple, flakes of ash still wafted through the air. Obi-Wan knew that the memories of the last hour would never leave him, knew that the sight of the flames engulfing Qui-Gon's body and the smell of his flesh and clothing being incinerated would remain with him until the day he joined the Force. The Jedi maxim, 'There is no death, there is the Force,' provided very little comfort to someone watching the body of a person he loved being reduced to ash.

In truth, those admissions were only a part of Obi-Wan's weakness. Reaching into his belt pouch, he removed the items that would stand testament to his inability to accept his loss with the expected Jedi resolve. While preparing his master's body for the pyre, he had cut a swatch of cloth from the back of Qui-Gon's cloak and plaited a thin braid from a section of the silver-streaked chestnut hair.

Using the small knife that Qui-Gon had always used to trim his padawan's hair, Obi-Wan had sliced off his own braid as well as the one he had woven in his master's hair and used threads from the fabric of the cloak to tie off the ends. Then he had wrapped more threads around the center of his braid before cutting it in half. He draped one portion reverently over Qui-Gon's clasped hands and twisted the other piece together with the braid from his master's hair before folding them inside the section of cloak fabric.

Obi-Wan had held the lightsaber and fabric in one hand as he had caressed Qui-Gon's cheek with his other hand in a private gesture of farewell. He had stood by the bier for long minutes, knowing that his next step would be the first step into a future he was not sure he was ready for.

Another surge of pain accompanied the memory and Obi-Wan tightened his hold on the items in his hands. He opened the small compartment on the side of the hilt and carefully placed the fabric containing the braids into the space. These items, and the river stone that Qui-Gon had given him on his thirteenth birthday, were the only things he had left of his master. The gesture would be looked upon by his peers as an inappropriate sign of attachment, but he would hold onto them and take strength from the memories of the man who had shaped his life and his heart.

Clipping the lightsaber to his belt, Obi-Wan closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. He knew that he would have to construct a new lightsaber at some point, that he could not go on indefinitely using a blade that had been crafted to fit another's hand. But for now he would carry Qui-Gon's, use the familiar blade as a reminder of the legacy he was duty- and heart-bound to uphold and pass on. He was a Jedi Knight due to his master's skill and patience and he would do his utmost to live up to Qui-Gon's faith in him and to stand as a positive example of the man's legacy.

When he was ready to craft a replacement, Obi-Wan would take the best aspects of Qui-Gon's blade and incorporate them into his own, just as he had with the blade he had lost to the melting pit. And on that day, Qui-Gon's lightsaber would be moved from the clip on his belt to a place of honor in the quarters he and Anakin would share. Displayed in their common room, it would serve as a daily reminder to both of them of the man who had spent his life adhering to and sustaining the Will of the Force and who had given them the opportunity to achieve their dreams and become Jedi.

The End.


End file.
